


A Kingdom for My King

by Writer_Of_Life



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Halloween 13 2020, BAMF Greg Lestrade, Boys Kissing, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Blood, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Vampires, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_Of_Life/pseuds/Writer_Of_Life
Summary: "If I open this door, Gregory, the only way it can close is with blood. Do you understand?"When Mycroft is kidnapped, secrets are revealed and Greg has a decision to make.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	A Kingdom for My King

**Author's Note:**

> A huge to thanks to the overwhelming patience of our wonderful host. I LOVE this calendar and am so thankful to be able to be a part of it again this year.

The room was too crowded. Smothering really.  
Mycroft shuffled his feet and tried to calm his need to lash out.  
The smell in the room was almost overwhelming. Too much blood. Too much fear. Too many enemies.  
He sat back in the throne at the head of the room.   
A presence beside him made him glance over.  
“Brother, dear,” Sherlock stood inches away from his seat, his hand resting on the top of its high back. A moment later, he sighs dramatically. “This is tedious.”  
Mycroft allows a small smile to form on his lips. “Sometimes a show of power is just what is needed to push the traitorous creatures back in line.”  
Sherlock sways gently by his side and Mycroft realizes that his little brother is uneasy.  
“Where is you doctor, tonight?”  
When his brother speaks again, Mycroft can hear the unrest in his words.  
“Emergency at the clinic. He will be here directly,” he says, never making a move toward his own seat which sits beside Mycroft’s throne.  
The music begins to play the tunes of old and Mycroft closes his eyes, seeing specters of the hundreds of years in which this particular song has graced his ears. It is one of his favorites.  
The crowd begins to shift around the music and a scent hits Mycroft full in the face, causing him to sit straight in his chair, eyes wary.  
“Brother?” Sherlock looks down at Mycroft, now wide-eyed and staring at the crowd. “What is it?”  
Mycroft looks up at Sherlock and something akin to panic flashes across his features. Sherlock steels himself for what his brother is about to say.  
“Did you check the guest list for tonight?”  
Sherlock blinks. That was not what he was expecting.  
“Yes, of course,” he says allowing confusion to bleed into his voice. “The same as always, brother; no changes of any consequence.”  
Mycroft tilts his head up slightly and discreetly smells the air once again. It is still there, he is not mistaken.  
“And the plus ones?”  
Sherlock shakes his head. “Only a handful. I’m told only two humans. What is it?”  
At his brother’s words, the crowd gently parts and Mycroft sees him — Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.  
“What is he doing here?” Mycroft glances up at Sherlock who looks just as surprised as himself. “Brother —”  
As the brothers watch, a gentle hand reaches out and grasps the lapel of Lestrade’s tuxedo, pulling him away from the center of the floor. As if on a connected string, Mycroft moves to stand, to follow him. But a hand on his arm stops him.  
“Be careful, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, not removing his hand. “He is someone’s guest. It would not do to lose your temper over a human.”  
Mycroft snaps his head up at his little brother and schools his face.  
“I’m not losing my temper, brother-mine,” he says. “He just has no idea where he is or whose company he keeps.”  
Sherlock leans down to whisper in his brother’s ear.  
“I will see who was ignorant enough to draw your attention, shall I?” Mycroft can hear the smile in his brother’s voice. “I’ll be gentle.”  
A slight nod is all Sherlock needs to gracefully step off the small stage and disappear into the crowd. In his mind, Mycroft attempted to rationalize his response to the arrival of the Detective Inspector. He had been meeting with the policeman for several years to get regular updates on his little brother and his hobby as a consulting detective. They had shared breakfasts, dinners and even — more recently — a glass of wine or scotch at his home in Kensington.  
It seemed their meetings were becoming more about the pleasure of each other’s company than any actual concern over his little brother.  
However, Lestrade had no idea what the Holmes brothers actually were, and if Mycroft had his way, the policeman would never know their true nature.  
Being a vampire was not something Mycroft enjoyed, but it was his life since birth and he would carry the burden with honor.  
When Sherlock had decided to tell his doctor, the politician had cautioned him against it. Of course, his little brother did not take his advice. Thankfully, the amount of power wielded by their family dissuaded any negative actions from their rivals. Dr. Watson was a part of the Holmes family now and would be treated as such.  
The Detective Inspector; however, had no knowledge of the danger he was in, if he was even aware of where he was. Compulsion was a tricky tool after all.  
During his musings, Mycroft held tight attention to the crowd in front of him, looking for any sign of the inspector. A plan for getting his friend — if that is what they were — to safety was quickly forming in his mind, changing or discarding them as they blossomed. A flash in his peripheral causes him to turn slightly to look at his brother.  
“It seems, brother, dear, that your inspector has come of his own free will as the date of Lord Williamson,” Sherlock says with a grimace. “He has no knowledge of what company he keeps, it seems.”  
Sherlock leans closer to his older brother, to whisper in his ear.  
“You know of Williamson’s reputation as well as I, Mycroft,” he hisses. “Save him. Now.”  
Mycroft glances up to see his brother’s face, which was surprisingly laced with concern. Lestrade is his brother’s friend, Mycroft remembers and sets his mind on his goal — get Lestrade to safety.  
Suddenly, the man in question is making his way toward the front, as he is dragged along by Williamson. And Mycroft realizes that Lestrade is about to see him sitting on a throne, wearing his crown as the leader of his people — of his nest. How would he explain this to his inspector? This moment would change everything between them, and he isn’t sure he is ready for that change. He isn’t ready to lose Greg Lestrade.  
“Your majesty,” Williamson greets him, and Mycroft’s eyes flash up to Lestrade’s. “May I present —”  
“Detective Inspector Lestrade.” Mycroft interrupts as he watches Lestrade’s reaction to his power on full display. “Welcome.”  
Lestrade is still. Too still. But Williamson does not seem to notice his date’s distress at the knowledge flowing through his mind.  
“Gregory is a familiar presence in the Holmes world, is he not, brother?” Mycroft glances at Sherlock who is now standing a little taller with all of the attention on his person. He is draped in sapphires and black silk, his immortal eyes shining in the candlelight.  
“Good evening, Inspector,” Sherlock says as he shifts his eyes to his brother. “Mycroft works closely with the Inspector. A few late nights as well.”  
The emeralds in Mycroft’s livery click together with the speed in which he sends a glare Sherlock’s way.  
Williamson looks at Sherlock with fear creeping onto his face.  
“Ah, My Liege, I didn’t realize you were aware of —”  
Mycroft raises his hand to stop him.  
“Of course not, Lord Williamson,” he says. “It is of no consequence, I assure you.”  
Lestrade is still stunned, but Mycroft can see that he has at last found his words.  
“Myc, what the bloody hell is going on?” Lestrade demands. “What kind of party is this?”  
The Inspector’s voice is rising and out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft can see the guards go unsteady. The familiarity with which he speaks does not escape Williamson’s notice — or Sherlock’s.  
With a small swipe of his hand, the guards resume their places.  
“Gregory.” Mycroft looks up at the gray-haired man standing less than a foot away from him, having stepped forward in his need for information. “Allow me to explain.”  
It isn’t a question and Lestrade knows it.  
Sherlock steps off the stage and draws the attention of Williamson. He leans close and whispers something in his ear.  
Williamson nods, then turns to Lestrade.  
“Darling, I apologize,” he says as he puts a hand on Lestrade’s bicep and leans close. “I must attend to an errand. I shall see you in a short while.”  
Lestrade moves away from the man and forces a smile. Williamson presses forward and places a chaste kiss on Lestrade’s cheek. Mycroft grips the arm rests of his throne and feels the marble shift under his hands. Releasing it, he gently stands and steps down from the stage. Williamson bows and backs away from the group, then turns to follow the direction given by Sherlock.  
Lestrade turns to look at Mycroft, who stands close enough to touch without much notice.  
“It seems your date,” Mycroft spits the word with contempt. “is otherwise engaged. Will you join me for a walk in the garden?”  
Lestrade gives him a genuine smile and nods.

The stars are on full display in the expansive garden of the Holmes estate. Although, Mycroft isn’t interested in the sparking gems of light, but the man beside him. Lestrade has been silent since they left the throne stage.  
“Detective Inspector —” Mycroft begins.  
Lestrade holds up a hand and stops.  
“Mycroft,” he says and steps close to the younger man. “I know something about you is different than everyone else. I’m not totally incompetent at my job, no matter what your git of a brother says. You are not who you say you are. I recognized the act fairly quickly after I got to know you. So, please, don’t lie to me.”  
The politician takes the words to heart and pauses to think through his options. Honesty worked well in Sherlock’s case. Maybe he could be just as lucky.  
“Very well, Detective Inspector,” he says and takes in the look on Lestrade’s face — disappointment. “Gregory, please understand that this is not something that I can easily share with you. The truth would put you in unnecessary danger. I can not allow that.”  
Lestrade’s face brightens a bit and Mycroft suppresses the want to smile.  
“My job is already dangerous, Myc. I assure you that I can take care of myself, no matter what you say to me tonight.”  
Mycroft shifts away from the policeman just slightly, so their eyes are no longer aligned.  
“This information is not something that can be shared for any reason, and I am taking a risk telling you now. If I open this door, Gregory, the only way it can close is with blood. Do you understand?”  
Lestrade pauses, clearly thinking. He shuffles his feet and then motions for Mycroft to sit with him on a nearby bench.  
“I understand, Myc,” he says. “Just tell me the truth.”  
Mycroft nods and takes a deep breath and looks at Lestrade.  
“Gregory,” he says, not looking him in the eye “You were correct earlier when you said that I was different. I am more different than you think. Just let me say my peace and then you can ask your questions. Yes?”  
Lestrade nods, holding Mycoft’s gaze.  
“As I am sure you noticed my crown and,” he sweeps his hands down the front of his outfit. “my attire. I am more than just a politician. In this world — in my world, I am the leader of my people.”  
Lestrade looks at Mycroft with a sly smile and suddenly there is a sharp crack from across the courtyard. Mycroft puts a hand on Lestrade’s arm to keep him from getting to his feet.  
“Stay here, please,” Mycroft says and stands. Lestrade huffs out a laugh and takes his place beside him. “Gregory, please.”  
Another loud crack took Mycroft’s attention from the policeman.  
Mycroft removes his crown and drops it to the ground. Gently, he pushes Lestrade behind him and steps toward the source of the noise.  
Suddenly, there is movement out of the corner of his eye and there was strangled cry from behind him. Before Mycroft can fully turn, Lestrade is thrown into him. Instead of stumbling back, he takes Lestrade’s full weight, gathering him close, eyes angry.  
Williamson stands in front of him with a hateful smile on his face.  
“Your Majesty,” he says with a snarl. “Isn’t it convenient that you are out here all alone.”  
Lestrade huffs another laugh, straightens himself in Mycroft’s arms and steps toward the aggressor.  
“He’s not alone, Williamson,” Lestrade says. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
Williamson laughs and lunges forward to grab Lestrade, drawing him in.  
Mycroft releases Lestrade’s arm so that the momentum of Williamson’s attack does not tear it from his body.  
His eyes blaze with crimson-edged hatred as he pulls Lestrade tightly to his chest, silver knife to his throat. Mycroft is still as he assesses the situation — action and consequence. Williamson was not known for his patience, but for his need for destruction. He was hell in the 1600s. Mycroft had barely been able to stop his thirst during the witch trials. Lestrade was nothing to him and he would not hesitate to kill him if he thought it would weaken Mycroft.  
“I know what you are doing,” Williamson says. “There is no way this ends with your Gregory alive and me not getting exactly what I want.”  
Mycroft raises his hands in mock defeat, keeping the smile from his face.  
“What is it that you want, Williamson?” Mycroft sighs. “I don’t have time to play with you.”  
Lestrade shifts slightly in Williamson’s arms, clearly deciding what his part is in all of this. As he does so, the blade sinks into the soft skin on his neck and a small streak of blood slides down into his white collar. Unbidden, Mycroft shifts forward unconsciously reaching for Lestrade. This is his mistake, the politician realizes.  
“Ah, I knew there was more to you than just work,” Williamson grins, his fangs lengthening. “You have something I want and you will give it to me or …” He leans down and grazes his fangs across Lestrade’s pulse point. The detective stiffens in his arms and his face can’t hide his fear and confusion.  
Mycroft is so close to losing himself with the smell of Lestrade’s blood in the air and the situation in which he finds himself that he doesn’t realize his own eyes were flared crimson and his fangs were pushing against his bottom lip. Unfortunately, it only takes one glance at Lestrade to realize he has made another mistake. Mycroft chides himself as he retracts his fangs and closes his eyes momentarily. When he opens them again, the storm-colored spheres have returned.  
“Mycroft …” Gregory’s voice is soft, and the politician can not meet his gaze. He knows it will be one he will see in his nightmares for centuries.  
Shaking off the distraction, Mycroft steps forward and when he speaks, the diplomat is firmly in place.  
“State your demands, Williamson,” he says. “Or force my hand. Chose quickly. I’m growing tired of your games.”  
Williamson seems to realize that this is the only opportunity he will get and takes his chance.  
“You,” he says. “I want you to come with me immediately and without a fight.” Mycroft shifts on his feet and Williamson continues quickly. “If you do this, I will let the Detective Inspector go without issue. I will not harm him.”  
Bending over, Mycroft picks up his crown and dusts off invisible particles. When he looks up, his expressionless mask is clearly in place.  
“Very well, Michael,” he says. “Let the inspector go and I shall go with you without fuss.”  
Lestrade makes to argue with him, but Williamson pulls the knife tighter against his throat.  
“Do we have a deal?” Mycroft asks. Williamson looks around and then slowly releases Lestrade.  
“Yes,” Williamson says. “We leave now.” He holds out a hand to Mycroft who steps forward, just out of reach.  
Lestrade quickly moves toward Mycroft, grasping his arms. “Don’t go with him, Myc,” he says. “You have no idea what he wants.”  
Mycroft looks at Lestrade and holds up his crown. “Give this to my brother.” As he steps away, he pulls a golden band from his finger and slides it onto Lestrade’s hand and allows an affectionate smile to pass his lips. “I’ll be OK, Gregory. I know exactly what he wants.” Again, Williamson thrusts his hand in Mycroft’s direction and this time he takes it.  
With one last glance at Lestrade’s back, Williamson pulls him away into the night.

Lestrade pushes through the crowd of people on the dance floor not caring if he was rougher than was polite. Sherlock was on Mycroft’s throne, John in the slightly less elegant chair beside it.  
“Sherlock!” Lestrade hisses as the guards stop him from approaching. With one glance at the crown in the policeman’s hand, Sherlock is on his feet and dismisses the guards, John on his heels.  
“Where is my brother?” Sherlock is suddenly distracted by the injury on his neck and Lestrade shifts in an attempt to bring his eyes back to his face. “What happened?”  
Lestrade goes through the events of the previous moments as John discreetly tends the wounds on his neck.  
“We need to go after him,” Lestrade says, pushing John’s hands away. “There is no telling what he wants with him.”  
Sherlock scoffs and falls back into his brother’s throne, crown in his hand. He holds it up to examine it and for a moment, Lestrade thinks he is going to put it on his own head, but then the lanky detective stands and places the crown in his stead. With a glance at John, Lestrade and the doctor move to the side of the stage and into the shadows.  
“Friends,” Sherlock barely raises his voice and the music stops immediately, leaving silence in its wake. “I’m afraid our host has had to take his leave. My brother has been called away on business. Matters of state, you understand. In his stead, I would like to extend our sincerest thanks for your attendance this evening and our invitation to continue the celebration unburdened.”  
With a slight wave of his hand, the music begins again, reverberating off the walls of the hall with grace. The crowd continues to watch him for a few moments, and he smiles regally before they fall back into their laughter and dancing.  
Lestrade glances at John and he shrugs. “He can be very charming when he wants to be, but just between us, he is worried.”  
Sherlock slowly moves off of the stage and into their shadow. “I think I know what Williamson wants with my brother,” Sherlock says, moving toward the doors leading out of the hall. Lestrade and John follow in his wake as the detective moves through the rooms, heading to the private part of the house.  
Once inside the residence, Sherlock turns and locks the world out.  
“Lestrade, I need to ask you some questions and I need you to answer me truthfully. Your answers could mean life and death for Mycroft.”  
The policeman nods instantly and takes off his suit coat as John brings him a glass of scotch.  
“Anything,” he says as he lets the warmth of the alcohol make its way to his center.  
Sherlock nods and even Lestrade can see the worry on his face. That was concerning to the policeman and begins to think that those few moments in the garden would be his last with the older Holmes.  
“You were invited to this affair by Williamson. How did that happen?”  
Lestrade shuffles his feet, and looks away from the detective and the doctor.  
“There is a woman in minor crimes who keeps insisting that I get out. She has this friend, she says. Nice bloke.” He looks up at Sherlock and the detective nods in understanding.  
“And you’ve given up on the dream that Mycroft will return your affections. You got tired of waiting and saying, ‘no.’” Sherlock continues. “Understandable.”  
Lestrade shakes his head and slams his hand on the table in front of him. “It’s bloody not understandable, Sherlock. It was a set up and I fell for it. Imagine my surprise when he wanted our first date to be a party more than a week away. I should have been suspicious then. I wasn’t. Then he picks me up and the way he talks, the way he moves, the way he keeps putting his hands on me — it didn’t feel right. I was trying to leave when he dragged me to you. Then, there was Mycroft looking at me like I had betrayed him and I was such an idiot, I couldn’t even speak.”  
John places a hand on the inspector’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Greg. The first time I saw Sherlock in this get-up, I was speechless, too.”  
Lestrade looks up at the army doctor and then past him to Sherlock. “Speaking of the get-up, what the bloody hell is going on here? In that outfit, you look like a member of The Family. Wait, are you royalty?”  
Sherlock sighs and steps forward. “Something like that.”  
Lestrade blinks. “Start explaining right now, Sherlock.”  
The detective shifts into the nearest chair. “We live in a world that you cannot comprehend, Lestrade. The politics and problems of your world mean nothing in ours. We are timeless and yet we do not have the time to explain all of this to you. So, I am going to need you to just pretend to be smarter than you are, and do as I say.”  
John looks at Sherlock with wide eyes. “He deserves to know. You can’t just expect —“  
“I understand,” Lestrade interrupts John. “Yes, I’ll do as you say if it means getting Mycroft back in one piece.” He rubs one hand through his hair in frustration, and Sherlock appears at his side, grabbing his hand.  
“Where did you get this?” Sherlock holds Lestrade’s hand up in front of his face. “Where?”  
Lestrade snatches his hand away and steps away from the detective. “Mycroft.”  
Sherlock smiles at him. “When?”  
The band twirls on Lestrade’s finger as he pushes it around. “When Williamson was taking him, he told me give you his crown and put this ring on my finger before he was gone. I begged him not to go with him. He told me he knew why he was being taken.” He eyes Sherlock. “Do you?”  
Sherlock laughs. “He gave you that ring and said nothing? Well, then I guess that settles it.”  
John looks at his detective curiously. “What is it, love?”  
Again, Sherlock takes his seat. “Williamson took my brother because he wants the throne. He thinks he can get it through Mycroft. He’s wrong, but that won’t stop him from trying. Him giving you that ring destroyed any plans Williamson might have. He clearly hasn’t realized that yet, but when he does, he will not hesitate to kill Mycroft and come for me.” He looks at John, then reaches out to brush his fingers along the doctor’s hand. “That plan will fail as well. He can’t marry me either.”  
Lestrade’s eyes were suddenly wild. “Is that what he wants? To marry Mycroft? What the hell is going on, Sherlock? Tell me now. Just the basics will do.”  
John seizes Sherlock’s hand and squeezes — a wordless demand.  
“Very well,” Sherlock says as he pulls John closer to his side. “Mycroft and I were born centuries ago to parents who were different — afflicted some said. They tried to blend in with their community, but they were not like the humans. They were vampire.  
“My brother and I were born with this affliction” — he spits the word — “as well. Mycroft is only a few decades years older than me, but when our parents were killed shortly after I was born, he raised me. He is all the family I had.” He looks up at John who still holds tightly to Sherlock’s hand. “He raised himself to the position he is in within the human government as well as our world on his own merits and his need to protect me. I was always getting in a little too far over my head and the more power Mycroft had, the easier it was to bail me out. For all of his faults, my brother is an gracious king, dependable leader, and a master tactician. He will survive this, I’m sure. However, you must never forget his nature, Lestrade. We are not peaceful creatures. We were created from darkness and dust with the sole purpose of taking the lifeblood of anyone who would stand in our way. We’ve killed people and will again if they stand between us and what is ours. We are deathly dangerous, Lestrade. Don’t ever forget that.”  
Lestrade scoffs, but suddenly remembers Mycroft baring his fangs, staring at him with scarlet eyes, and showing strength he shouldn’t possess. “You’re serious?”  
In a blink, Sherlock is behind Lestrade, his fangs bared against the inspector’s neck. “I am.”  
Lestrade reels forward into John’s chest. “It’s OK, Greg. It’s OK. He won’t hurt you. He’s just proving a point.” John looks reproachfully at Sherlock.  
The Inspector turns on his heel. Sherlock has not moved and his fangs are bright in the low light. “I am vampire, Inspector. Just as Mycroft is vampire. Still interested in rescuing my brother?”  
Lestrade straightens and steps into Sherlock’s space. “Yes, now tell me what I need to do to get him back.”  
A smile graces the detective’s lips and nods. “Very well. Take a seat and we will begin.”

Mycroft sits in the uncomfortable chair and waits. He hates waiting. He always has. “If you plan on negotiating, now would be the time.”  
The door to the room Mycroft had occupied for the past few hours swings open and Williamson steps inside. “Your Majesty. I realize that you cannot appreciate my desire to serve my nest, but I implore you to hear my proposal.”  
Mycroft sighs, but nods. “Go on, then. What is your plan? Force me to give up my crown, my throne to you? You know I won’t.”  
Williamson gives a little laugh and steps into Mycroft’s space, runs a hand down his arm.  
“I’m not asking you to give up your crown, your Grace. I’m simply proposing to join you.”  
Mycroft shifts away from him, but finds his back against the wall. “Join me?”  
Williamson wraps an arm around Mycroft’s waist and drags him against him.  
“Marry me. Let me rule beside you.”  
Mycroft pushes him back. “No.”  
Williamson laughs gently and moves away. “Very well, your Grace. I will let you think on the idea. Alone. I will seek your answer in a few hours.” He turns to leave, but stops at the doorway. “If you say no again, I will remove you from the line and have the same talk with your brother.”  
Mycroft laughs. “You won’t have any better luck with him — if you can get past his doctor.”  
The lord simply smiles at Mycroft. “I got past your Detective Inspector.”  
Scraping wood over stone and the heavy sound of a lock setting into place comes next and Mycroft realizes that he may be in a little more trouble than he thought.  
No matter what Mycroft says, he can not marry Williamson, not with his ring on Gregory’s finger. He hopes that he kept it on and he prays that his little brother is as clever as he thinks he is. Sherlock will notice the ring, Mycroft is sure, but wether he will understand is a different matter. One that deals with the heart. A heart Sherlock claims he doesn’t have, army doctor or no.  
“Be quick, little brother.”

Lestrade sits back in his chair, taking in all of the information Sherlock had just spilled into his mind. Mycroft’s past, his family, and his place at the head of his nest. The Inspector had listened and nodded and understood. “And the ring, Sherlock?”  
The Detective looks at John before he moves around the table to lean against it in front of the Inspector. Picking up his hand, Sherlock traces the ring on Lestrade’s hand.  
“This ring means Mycroft can’t marry Williamson,” he says. “It means he will likely try to kill Mycroft and come for me because he thinks I am unattached.” He waits for John to join him in front of the Inspector. When his doctor is settled beside him, he pulls John’s left hand to his lips before it showing to Lestrade. There on his fourth finger is a golden band that matches Lestrade’s. “Clearly, I am not. John wears my ring, and is therefore my husband. That is our tradition. Now, you wear Mycroft’s.”  
The Inspector stands so quickly, he stumbles backwards. “What? Married? He didn’t say anything, he just put the ring on my finger.”  
Sherlock laughs. “And this surprises you? My brother has been in love with you for nearly a decade.”  
Lestrade scoffs. “In love with me? I can barely get him to text me back most evenings.”  
John laughs loudly, it echoes in the room. “Text you back most evenings? Greg, Mycroft only answers me when he thinks his little brother is dead or dying. Mycroft doesn’t text. Ever. And he certainly doesn’t go around giving rings to men he cares nothing for. You are married to him as long as you wear that ring. If you don’t want to do this, I understand. Just take it off and Sherlock will find another way.”  
The Detective moves toward Lestrade when the Inspector hesitates to answer. But as Sherlock reaches for his hand, he snatches it away and stumbles back.  
“No!” Lestrade almost shouts. “No, he gave it to me. I will wear it until Mycroft asks for it back. Which I am sure he will as soon as we get him from Williamson. Until then, it stays with me.”  
Sherlock smiles and backs away with his hands raised in front of his chest. “Very well, Inspector.”  
John claps Lestrade on the shoulder and leans into his ear. “He won’t ask for it back, mate. I guarantee it.”  
Lestrade feels his face heat a little at the proclamation. “So I guess that makes me your brother-in-law now, John.”  
The Doctor smiles at Lestrade. “Welcome to the family, Greg. Brace yourself.”  
Lestrade laughs and finds his coat. “I think it’s time to find my husband, don’t you, brother dear?”  
Sherlock rolls his eyes and smiles at John. “I need to change, as do you husband.”  
It was Lestrade’s turn to roll his eyes as the couple departs the room.  
“Don’t get handsy. I’ve got a king to save,” Lestrade calls after them as he pulls his tux jacket off as well as his bowtie and cufflinks. Dropping everything on the closest available surface, he unbuttons the top three buttons of his shirt. He still feels too formal, but it hardly matters. Getting Mycroft away from Williamson is all that matters and he begins to grow impatient. Ten minutes later, he makes a decision. Sherlock shouldn’t have told him where to Williamson find and then leave him unattended. He was halfway down the driveway to his car when a vehicle pulled along side him. “Do get in, Lestrade. Going alone is not your smartest plan.”  
He pulls the driver door open and pulls Sherlock from the seat. “Then I’m driving.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes his seat in the back of the car.

The door to Mycroft’s room clicks open and he knows his time is up. No matter, he has an answer to give.  
“Your Grace,” Williamson shuts the door and moves into the room. “You do look lovely tonight, your majesty.” He steps closer and grabs Mycroft’s hand and pulls it to his lips. “Do you have an answer for me?”  
Mycroft has ensured he will not be trapped against a wall again. “I do, Lord Williamson.”  
Williamson pulls him closer, shoving his nose along Mycroft’s neck. “And what is it, my sweet?”  
Mycroft pulls his arms against his chest, ready to shove him away. “My answer is still no, my Lord. That will not change.”  
Suddenly, Williamson is pushing him, and it takes every bit of his concentration to keep his feet steady under him. His back slams against a wall and his hands are being held above his head. “Wrong answer, I’m afraid,” he licks a long stripe up Mycroft’s neck. “Are you sure?”  
The door across the narrow room swings open, slamming against the wall beside it. “I believe he said no.”  
Mycroft lets out a sigh of relief. “Finally, Gregory. What kept you?”  
Williamson drags Mycroft in front of him and Lestrade lowers his gun on instinct. “Let him go Williamson, he can’t give you what you want.”  
The lord smiled at him and tugged Mycroft closer, silver knife to his throat. “He can and he will. It might just take a little persuasion.” He leans in and kisses Mycroft’s throat, his fangs edging out for Lestrade to see. Mycroft rails against him, but a small cry from a touch of silver has Lestrade begging the King with his eyes to stop struggling.  
The Inspector steps closer and raises his left hand, the gold of the ring shines in the light. “No, he can’t. He’s my husband.”  
Williamson growls and shoves Mycroft aside. Lestrade levels his gun at Williamson and steps close. “If you hurt him, I will kill you right here. If you put your hands on him, I will make you suffer.”  
A cool hand on his shoulder makes Lestrade look away from the man in front of him. “I am unharmed, Gregory. He may have put his hands on me, but not in any way that is worth killing him over.”  
Lestrade turns back to Williamson and shoves the muzzle against his forehead. “Him touching you at all is worth killing him over.”  
Mycroft smiles at him. “You’re too kind. No, please Gregory, I ask that you spare him. My people have our own ways of dealing with traitors like him.”  
Sherlock and John round the corner followed by Donovan. “Put it away, Inspector. The calvary has arrived. As sad as it is not to see Williamson’s blood painted across this floor, you can’t shoot him.”  
Lestrade lowers the gun only when Mycroft presses his hand down and away. “Gregory, take me home, please.”  
Lestrade shoves the gun into Donavan’s hand and steps out of the way with Mycroft by his side. He seems to come to his senses and pulls Mycroft against him. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you? Talk to me Myc.”  
Mycroft raised his hands to Lestrade’s face. “I am fine, Gregory. I swear to you, I am unharmed and untouched for the most part. You witnessed the worst of it.”  
Anger flashes across Lestrade’s features and Mycroft smiles at him. “Take me home, Gregory.”  
Lestrade nods and pulls Mycroft close as they walk toward the hallway and their exit. “Of course, Myc.”  
Sherlock steps in front of them and Mycroft stands straighter. “Little brother?”  
The Detective nods and moves aside. “Be kind to him, Lestrade.”  
Lestrade nods, gives the Detective a smile in return and helps Mycroft outside and into the car.  
“Sherlock told you everything, did he not?” Mycroft inquires. “And you are still here. Why?”  
Lestrade focuses on the road and does not speak. Eventually, he reaches over and places his hand on Mycroft’s knee. The short, silence-filled ride ends in front of Mycroft’s home and Lestrade turns to Mycroft. “You asked me why I was still here, why I came for you. Because I love you.”  
Mycroft lets out a sigh of relief and leans forward. “Then kiss me.”  
Lestrade doesn’t hesitate. He leans forward and gently pulls Mycroft to his lips. “Why did we wait so long to do this?” Mycroft huffs a laugh against his lips and pulls away slightly. “Why are we waiting any longer?” He pulls Lestrade’s left hand up and kisses the ring. “Husband.”  
Lestrade blushes just slightly and reaches for the ring. “I should have given this back to you as soon as you were safe. I apologize.”  
Mycroft reaches out and stops him from removing the ring. “Do you not want it?”  
“It’s not mine, Myc. I understand you just gave it to me so that Williamson’s plans would fail. You were forced to give it away, so I am giving it back so that you may give it to whomever you choose to be your husband. I was simply the closest option at the time.”  
Mycroft turns away from him and climbs out of the car. Lestrade watches him shut the doors and mentally berates himself for having any hope at all that Mycroft would even consider returning his feelings. A sharp rap on the window shakes him from his thoughts and he opens the door and steps out.  
Mycroft stands in front of him the emeralds glittering against the dark backdrop of his outfit. “If you insist I take the ring back, then let me have it so I may give it to the person whom I have selected to spend my existence.”  
Lestrade frowns and wiggles the ring off his finger, gently handing it Mycroft. He nods and turns away.  
“Gregory,” Lestrade returns to face Mycroft. “I would first like to thank you for saving my life, and next say that I have adored you for nearly a decade and your declaration in the car matches my own.” Lowering himself to one knee, Mycroft raises the ring. “Please, Gregory, I know this life is a difficult one and the situation is very confusing for you to have gone through. However, I will still ask. Will you marry me?”  
Lestrade laughed and pulled Mycroft to his feet. “I accepted the first time you gave me the ring.” He leans forward pulling Mycroft into a deep kiss. “I am; however, still very confused about exactly who you and Sherlock really are.”  
Mycroft smiles at him. “I understand, Gregory. Surely we can think on these matters later. As your husband and your king, I’m declaring that we spend the next while in our bed. We can talk there.”  
Lestrade pulled him close again, gently running his tongue across Mycroft’s bottom lip. Mycroft opens his mouth to gasp and finds himself being consumed by the Inspector. The tip of Lestrade’s tongue drags across a retracted fang and suddenly Mycroft can think of nothing else but the man that has him wrapped in his arms.  
“You bloody git,” Lestrade smiles against Mycroft’s lips. “If I am taking you to bed, there won’t be much talking. My mouth will be a little occupied getting to know my husband.”  
Mycroft swallows and looks away, a smile teasing at his lips. “Lead on, husband.”


End file.
